


Competition

by FollowerofMercy



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Codependency, Codependent Papyrus, Cooking, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Grumpy Old Men, Healthy Sibling Relationships, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Mom Papyrus, Mutual Roasting, PTA Papyrus, Papyrus (Undertale) Knows More Than He Lets On, Pranks, Questionable Food, Responsible Alcohol, Rivalry, Strong Silent Type, Vanilla Undertale, gen - Freeform, puns, skelebros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-04-04 09:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14017311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FollowerofMercy/pseuds/FollowerofMercy
Summary: Snowdin isn't big enough for two cooks.





	1. Rivalry

**Author's Note:**

> Got the idea from ReaderRose/DrUndertaleScum on Tumblr! Fun little thing to write.

“SANS! TRY THIS ONE!”

Before Sans could object, Papyrus had set a piping plate of pasta “alfredo” on the coffee table (on a coaster, of course). The alfredo sauce sloshed like milk and reeked of garlic.

“bro, this is the sixth kind of pasta you’ve made today.”

Papyrus puffed out his chest and held his fist to his sternum. “YES, AND I HAVE FOUR MORE RECIPES WAITING TO BE EXPLORED!”

He leapt onto the arm of the couch and perched there, watching Sans with big eyes. Sans reluctantly twirled some of the overdone noodles onto the fork and brought it closer, careful not to drip the juice on the couch. When he didn’t immediately take a bite, Papyrus cocked his head to the side.

“GO AHEAD! I DON’T MIND IF YOU EAT IN THE LIVING ROOM THIS ONE TIME.”

Aha, the perfect escape opportunity. Sans put the fork down and turned to his brother.

“ok, what’s up with you?”

Papyrus held his hand to his chest. “WHATEVER DO YOU MEAN?”

“you’ve been cooking nonstop, without undyne -“

“I’M TRAINING AT HOME!”

“-you wanted me to read you a cookbook instead of fluffy bunny or advanced electrical engineering -“

“BROADENING MY HORIZONS!”

“ – and now you’re letting me eat in the living room. on the couch. like an animal.”

Papyrus sat with his mouth open and finger raised, silent, looking back and forth nervously. Sans just sat there patiently. He could always outlast his brother.

“…JUST EAT THE PASTA.”

“nope. not until you tell me.”

Papyrus scowled and lowered himself from the edge onto the actual couch, leaning in towards his brother. “OK FIRST OF ALL, I AM AN ADULT AND I DON’T NEED TO TELL YOU ANYTHING.”

Sans raised an eyebrow, but Papyrus steamrolled over him.

“SECONDLY, I AM TRYING TO PROVE SOMETHING.”

Sans twisted to recline on the opposite arm of the couch, his slippers pressed against Papyrus’s socked feet. “i'm listenin’.”

Papyrus glared at him for a second before his straight face broke. He sighed dramatically and flopped back against his arm of the couch and stretched out, pushing Sans’s legs back.

“GRILLBY THINKS HIS FOOD IS SUPERIOR TO MINE.”

What.

“what.”

“HE DOES! HE’S SO SMUG, ALL HOLED UP IN HIS LITTLE GREASE PIT. I BET HE HAS KITCHEN FIRES ALL THE TIME.”

“pfft. you have kitchen fires all the time, bro.”

“NO I DO NOT! UNDYNE DOES! WHEN HAS THERE EVER BEEN A FIRE IN THIS HOUSE?”

“well…”

“NOT COUNTING THE TIMES I WAS FOLLOWING YOUR ADVICE.”

“…point taken.”

Papyrus gestured everywhere at once, his brows furrowed in irritation. “DON’T YOU NOTICE? EVERY TIME I ASK FOR A MILKSHAKE, HE GETS HUFFY.”

“ _grillby_ gets huffy.”

“HE DOES!!! HE SPARKS UP MORE THAN USUAL.”

When Sans didn’t respond, Papyrus crossed his arms. “DON’T GET THAT TONE!”

“bro, what tone.”

“THAT TONE THAT MEANS YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME!”

“i mean, i've known grillbz longer than you have.”

“BUT NOBODY EVER GETS HUFFY WITH YOU, YOU’RE SANS AND YOU WOULDN’T KNOW. BESIDES, YOU ALWAYS GET THE GREASY FOODS!”

“what does that have to do with anything?”

“HE DOESN’T FEEL LIKE YOU’RE JUDGING HIM. I DON’T ACTUALLY JUDGE HIM, BUT IF HE’S GOING TO BE ALL IRRITABLE BECAUSE I DON’T LIKE HIS GREASE, THEN I HAVE TO PROVE MYSELF! I HAVE TO BE THE BEST COOK I CAN BE!”

Sans sighed and smiled a little wider. “bro, c’mon. grillbz doesn’t care. he knows you’re a health nut, and he knows you wouldn’t judge him fer cooking unhealthy stuff.”

Papyrus didn’t look convinced, but this was the longest “argument” he had maintained in months and he was starting to look a little drained.

“I SUPPOSE…” he muttered. A few seconds of silence passed, then his eyes bugged out of his head.

“GET YOUR SHOES OFF THE COUCH YOU ANIMAL!”

Sans obliged and kicked off his slippers. They went back to how they were sitting, Papyrus stretched out and Sans with his knees slightly bent.

“ _THANK_ YOU.”

Papyrus cleared his throat and pulled a blanket over his lap. “ANYWAY. IN LIGHT OF THE… _DIFFICULTIES_ , BETWEEN ME AND GRILLBY, I WANTED TO GET YOUR OPINION ON MY COOKING! AS A FRIENDLY COMPETITION OF SORTS.”

“alright bro.”

Sans pulled the still-steaming plate closer and waved a forkful around to cool. He ate it.

It was… something.

To be honest, he didn’t mind Papyrus’s cooking, though he had been accused of eating literally anything before. This was one of the better batches, though somehow the alfredo sauce tasted overwhelmingly of alcohol.

“uh.”

“YES?”

“did you put booze in this?”

“UGH, IT WAS WHITE WINE, SANS. HAVE SOME COUTH.”

“where did you even get…? nevermind. it's great bro.”

Papyrus latched onto the praise and his eyes sparkled. “HA! I LEARNED IT FROM CHAPTER SIXTEEN OF THE COOKBOOK! AT THIS RATE, I SHALL BE ABLE TO HAVE MY OWN RESTAURANT TO RIVAL GRILLBY’S!”

Sans chuckled and polished off the plate. The vapors alone were enough to get to his head, nevermind the alcohol that somehow didn’t burn off. He felt off enough after finishing the meal to consider doing something stupid.

Once Papyrus was deep into the intricacies of his future restaurant, currently describing the tablecloths woven from the finest spider silk (DURABLE AND HYPOALLERGENIC!), Sans made his move.

He used his toe to tickle the arch of Papyrus’s foot.

Papyrus shrieked loud enough to rattle the windows and lurched backwards over the arm of the couch. Sans busted out laughing while Papyrus rattled with unbridled emotion. He was up in an instant, fists clenched on the arm of the couch, fire burning in his sockets and an excited grin locked in place.

“SANS I AM _SO_ GOING TO GET YOU!”

Sans kept laughing, but as Papyrus approached, his eyelights shrunk to pinpricks. Disproportionate tickle retribution was in order.

“oh shit.”

“’OH SHIT’ IS RIGHT, BROTHER!”

\---

A few days later, Sans was at Grillbys’s for lunch, as usual.

“yeah, paps has been tryin’ all kinds of new stuff. he's really progressing _pasta_ the basics,” Sans said and winked. Fish snorted into his drink and Red Bird rolled his eyes. Grillby washed cups emotionlessly behind the counter.

“Is he still burning water?” Bird asked.

“is that you or Grillbz askin’?”

“Me.”

“nah, the only thing he ever burns is me on occasion. i swear, you live with a person for your whole life and they get some dirt on you.”

Punk Hamster yelled across the bar. “Oi! Speaking of burns, guess what Mettaton just did!”

Sans picked at his fries while the bar erupted into chatter. Red Bird interjected “Grillby’s” opinions regularly. As the conversation went on, Grillby stepped closer to the bar and whispered something.

Red Bird started translating for Grillby, but Sans whipped around and completely cut him off. “woah wait, a _discount_?”

Grillby hissed, sparks fluttering from his head. “. _Keep your voice down.”_

Sans unceremoniously shooed the translator, who huffed and waddled off to where his input would be appreciated.

“grillbz, you never give discounts.”

“ _.I need someone to try a new recipe. You are my best option.”_

Sans blinked uncomprehendingly. “who are you and what have you done with grillbz.”

“. _Fine. I will ask someone el-“_

 _“_ no no that’s alright, i will definitely do it. i'd never turn down your cookin’.”

“ _.Good. Stay after I close.”_

\---

Once the last of the bar patrons filtered out, or were dragged out in Bunny’s case, Grillby beckoned Sans through the fire exit. Inside was Grillby’s personal quarters, first the massive converted kitchen. Grillby motioned for Sans to sit at the small dining table while he finished up the dish.

“a little unusual for you to suddenly start trying new things, isn’t it?”

Grillby didn’t respond, save for a small crackle.

Sans picked at the tablecloth while the fire monster worked. Unfortunately, and as much as Sans refused to admit it to himself, he couldn’t stand silence.

“i mean, why change perfection, amirite? you haven’t changed your menu in five years.”

A spoon clinked in a pot. Sans twiddled his thumbs.

“it’s the most popular restaurant in snowdin.”

“ _.It’s the only restaurant in Snowdin,”_ Grillby whispered, and started ladling something onto a plate. He soon carried it over to the table and set it down in front of his guest.

Sans stared down at the ravioli and tomato sauce, and desperately tried not to laugh. Grillby loomed nearby, arms crossed and flickering.

“ _.Eat.”_

Sans eagerly cut a piece of ravioli and drained some of the oil clinging to it, then stuffed it in his mouth. It was good, even better than Papyrus’s, but there was no way in hell he was going to let Grillbz know that.

Sans smiled and closed his eyes, humming in appreciation. When he opened his sockets again, Grillby inclined his head for him to speak.

Time for some experiments.

“’s good,” Sans said. “though…”

He let Grillby stew in anxiety for a few seconds before he continued, feigning contemplation.

“not the best i've had. maybe you could ask papyrus for some suggestions before you put it on the menu?”

The plume of fire erupting from Grillby’s head was impressive, to say the least. Sans stared with barely hidden glee at the outburst, though it was gone in an instant. As soon as it was over, Grillby adjusted his glasses self-consciously and went to collect the dishes, but Sans waved him off.

Holy shit his brother was right.

“nah, ‘s fine. i'm not about to let good food go to waste.”

Sans barely held his composure. Sparks were popping off of Grillby like confetti, and smoke coiled above his head. He’d never seen him so riled up, especially not over _cooking._

Sans popped another ravioli in his mouth and talked around it. “how’s fuku?”

Grillby gave a thumb up and settled in the chair opposite him, hands steepled on the table and apparently appreciative of the subject change.

He did not ask how Papyrus was.

Sans grinned to himself and polished off the rest of the raviolis. Grillby took the plate to the… sink, and started washing them. And by washing, the faucet was a gas line that Grillby used to burn the plate clean with. Sans could feel the absolutely excessive heat rolling off from the other side of the kitchen.

He returned shortly after. “ _30G.”_

Sans clutched his chest and gasped loudly. “what kind of discount is that? who are you, mettaton?”

Grillby put both hands on the table and loomed over the short skeleton. “ _Keep comparing my cooking to other people’s and it’ll be 50G.”_

Sans chuckled and fished the gold out of his pocket. “relax, just ribbin’ ya. don't get so fired up.”

Grillby pocketed the money and pointed wordlessly to the door. Sans hopped down from the chair and waved over his shoulder. “thanks grillbz! see ya tomorrow.”

Grillby popped, and Sans took a shortcut home, grinning the entire time.

 

Papyrus was going to hit the roof.


	2. Frenemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author accidentally made them friends.

Sans woke to a bag of bread slamming down on his sentry station.

Why. He loved his brother, but why.

Papyrus was talking too fast to make out the words, tossing ingredients on Sans’s table just as fast. Sans blinked the sleep from his eyes and let his brother flop a package of napkins on his head.

“mornin’ bro.”

“ITHINK10GISFAIR – GOOD MORNING – WELLNOMAYBEWESHOULDDOITFORFREEBUTWE-”

Sans looked around at the growing pile of ingredients and silverware that threatened to box him in. At this point, he could barely see his brother over the stacks. Papyrus kept rambling about money and sales until he abruptly stopped and straightened, and turned to look at Sans.

“…IT’S NOT MORNING.”

“it’s before three. it is for me.”

Papyrus blinked and went back to unpacking. Sans furrowed his brows and raised himself to see what he was doing. Papyrus had a bedsheet with the rest of his stuff in it and a wide groove in the snow leading back to town.

“is that the tarp from the machine in the basement?”

Papyrus looked up, eyes wide and blushing. “EHEHE… MAYBE?”

“papyrus, c’mon dude. i asked you not to touch that.”

Agh, Papyrus shame physically hurt Sans to look at. Papyrus’s entire demeanor changed, slumped shoulders and crossed arms. “…SORRY. I NEEDED A SHEET BIG ENOUGH AND I DIDN’T WANT TO BORROW YOUR ACTUAL BEDSHEETS AND RISK GETTING STAINS ON THEM…”

It was impossible to stay angry. Sincerity tends to do that. “it’s fine. we'll get s’more tarps when we go to the capital again. did the machine make a weird sound when you pulled the tarp off?”

“NO, I WAS VERY CAREFUL.”

“aight. and, uh, i'm sorry but i'm gonna go check on it real quick. keep doin’ your thing and fill me in when i get back.”

“OK.”

Papyrus waved while Sans trotted offscreen. Before he rounded the corner and took a shortcut, he called over his shoulder, “powertools’re in the third drawer if ya need them!”

“THANK YOU!”

\--

Sans popped into the basement and gave the machine a cursory examination. He went to the stupid vacuum tube that always got knocked off whenever Sans tried to work on it, but somehow Papyrus had managed to pull the tarp off without dislodging it. Man, Papyrus was so much better at this than him. It’d be awesome if he could help.

He shrugged off the idea before he started considering it too hard and popped back to his station, where Papyrus already had a pot of spaghetti cooking on a chemistry hot plate.

“DID I BREAK ANYTHING?!”

Papyrus wrung his hands and didn’t even blink when Sans appeared directly in front of him.

“nope, looks great bro. just a little paranoid. you know me.”

“I’M REALLY SO-“

“nope. stop that.”

“BUT I-“

“zzztt.” Sans held up his finger in a shushing motion. “it’s _fine_ , alright? just don’t do it again.”

“OKAY…”

Sans kicked over the corner of the tarp and shoved his hands in his pockets to diffuse the tension. If he let him, Papyrus would agonize for hours. “so what’cha up to?”

The sadness melted away and Papyrus shot up, hands clapped in front of his chest. “I HAD AN IDEA!”

Sans smiled a little wider. “i can see that.”

“WE’RE GOING TO SELL MY CULINARY PERFECTION AT YOUR SENTRY STATION!”

“uh… ok? i'd be totally on board ‘cept i kinda use it.” 

Papyrus began strutting around the station, organizing food and cooking utensils with a deft hand. “WELL YES, BUT THERE IS THE GREATER GOOD AT _STEAK_!”

As he said that, Papyrus whipped out a t-bone steak and showed it to his brother. Sans snorted and gave a thumb up. Papyrus took that as an invitation to continue.

“YOU SEE, I _COULD_ JUST CONTINUE TO EXPERIMENT WITH YOU AT HOME, BUT THERE IS A MUCH WIDER AUDIENCE I COULD REACH! AN AUDIENCE PERPETUALLY MIRED IN GREASE AND UNHEALTHINESS! THE WOODLAND TEENAGERS AND THE GUARD DOGS WILL BE HUNGRY AFTER THEIR GALAVANTING AND PATROLS, AND I, ERM, _WE,_ WILL BE HERE WITH BAITED BREATH!”

Sans poked a freeze-dried package of tilapia. “bro, don’tcha think selling your food at a station in the middle of the woods seems a little… fishy?”

Papyrus nodded at the pun and stretched. “NO MORE SO THAN RUNNING AN ILLEGAL HOTDOG STAND THAT YOUR WONDERFUL AND LOYAL BROTHER HAS NEGLECTED TO MENTION TO A CERTAIN FISH LADY.”

Sans blinked, running Papyrus’s tone back in his head. “…was that a threat?”

Papyrus hummed and bounced away. “I’M OFF TO PUT UP SIGNS FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS (AND SANS)’S GREASELESS PIT-STOP! I SHALL RETURN TO STIR THE PASTA, DON’T WORRY YOUR BONEY HEAD.”

“o…kay. have fun i guess?”

\---

As soon as Papyrus returned, Sans hopped off his bench and pilfered a bottle of Worchester sauce. “a’ight bro, i gotta go to waterfall for my lunch shift.”

“…PLEASE TELL ME THAT’S NOT ALL YOU’RE EATING.”

“it might not be.”

Papyrus groaned. “ALRIGHT, FINE! GO DO WHATEVER IT IS YOU DO. I SHALL TAKE GOOD CARE OF YOUR STATION IN YOUR ABSENCE! OH, AND IF YOU SEE ANYBODY, SEND THEM OVER FOR FREE SAMPLES! PERHAPS I COULD EVEN CAPTURE A HUMAN WITH MY STIMULATING SUSTENANCE! NYEH HEH!”

“free?”

“YES, IT WOULD BE A SHAME TO DENY MY COOKING TO ANYONE THAT LEFT THEIR WALLET AT HOME! IT WILL ALL BE FREE!”

Sans shrugged and walked away. “a’ight, you’re the boss. bye.”

“BYE SANS!”

\---

Papyrus hummed tunelessly to himself, only pausing in his obsession to accost the rare passerby and force a sample on them. At a particularly slow point, Papyrus perked up at the sound of footfalls. He had a cup of bubble milk tea ready, full of equal amounts black pearl tapioca and caviar. Truly the mark of a great chef, stretching limited resources and substituting equivalent ingredients.

The footfalls grew louder, faint light seeping through the trees from the direction of Snowdin and getting brighter. Papyrus’s smile faltered for a half second as _he_ stepped around the corner.

Grillby froze in his tracks, letting loose a loud pop of surprise, or irritation? Intimidation? Fear? Papyrus was going to assume all of the above.

_Good._

Papyrus plastered on a sweeter, naïve smile while Grillby decided whether to meet his maker or slink back to his bar. He had a paper bag cradled in his arms, sleeves rolled up to expose more of his skin and grease visibly seeping through the material. A miracle that the mess didn’t ignite then and there.

Grillby decided to approach with stiff, brisk steps. Papyrus clasped his hands in his lap and fluttered his eyelashes. “WHY HELLO, GRILLBY! FANCY SEEING YOU HERE.”

He’d refrain from using witticisms just yet, let Grillby get the first strike. Papyrus always let others go first, tried to be a gentleskeleton. That way, if and when things escalated, the gloves could come _off._

They locked eyes. Papyrus stood as Grillby approached.

“ _.Hello.”_

Papyrus glanced the bag of what passed for food. “MAY I ASK WHAT YOU HAVE THERE?”

_“.No.”_

_“AWW,_ HOW COME?” He used a childish whine, the tone that made Sans cave without fail.

“ _None of your business.”_

Oh, it was _on_. Papyrus laid it on thick with his innocent face, bright-eyed and eager to please… _or so it seemed._ “OH, HEAVENS NO, I DO NOT INTEND TO MAKE IT MY BUSINESS! I’M NOT INTERESTED IN YOUR RECIPE! THE FOOD STAND OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAS BEEN BUSTLING WITH THE BUSINESS! NO MONSTER HAS WALKED… _PASTA_ ME, NYEH HEH HEH!”

Grillby crackled. “ _.That joke is as stale as your bread.”_

Papyrus grinned manically. “I SUPPOSE THE FOCACCIA MAY SEEM A LITTLE DRY, BUT IT SEEMS LIKE YOUR SORT OF BREAD! IT WOULD SURELY COMPLEMENT YOUR… _METHOD_ OF COOKING.”

“ _.At least my method doesn’t involve assault.”_

“A- _SALT?_ I BEG TO DIFFER. I’VE SEEN YOUR FRIES. PEOPLE ARE AS LIKELY TO USE THEM TO DEFROST THE ROADS AS EAT THEM.”

Grillby was getting brighter and hotter, causing the icicles clinging to the roof to drip.

“ _.Normal people like fries, not whatever_ this _is.”_

“ _THIS_ IS A SELECTION OF CULINARY EXPERIMENTS! VARIETY IS THE SPICE OF LIFE AFTER ALL. I CAN LEND YOU SOME SPICES SINCE YOU DON’T SEEM TO USE ANY, BESIDES SALT.”

“ _.Not everyone is too stuck-up to appreciate the basics.”_

_“_ AND HAVING AN UPPER-SCALE MENU DOESN’T MAKE ME STUCK UP. I AM A COOK OF THE PEOPLE!”

Grillby’s fire sparked and writhed, streaks of white rising from his core. “ _Having expensive ingredients doesn’t make you a cook.”_

_“_ YOU DON’T USE THE HIGHEST QUALITY POTATOES AND MEAT BYPRODUCT IN YOUR FOOD? THEY’RE CERTAINLY PRICED AS IF YOU DO.”

“ _My prices are completely reasonable! Your deadbeat brother is just a cheap-“_

Grillby snapped his mouth shut when Papyrus’s face lost all animation, a dead, rictus smile with empty sockets.

“Excuse you. Sans iS NOT A DEADBEAT.”

As Papyrus’s voice returned to normal, so did his face. He smirked to himself at the subtle paling of Grillby’s fire, then felt a little guilt worming in his ribcage. The scary face was mean. People didn’t like the scary face.

He floundered to lighten the mood. “I MEAN, HE _IS_ A LAZYBONES. BUT SKELETONS ARE NOT DEAD, NOR DO WE BEAT PEOPLE! IT’S A COMMON MISCONCEPTION, THOUGH. DON’T FEEL BAD.”

A drop of water fell from an icicle in the awkward silence. The color slowly returned to Grillby’s extremities.

“… _I meant deadbeat in the most flattering way possible._ ” What fear Grillby unconsciously expressed melted away, replaced by mild embarrassment. This was much better. Papyrus could work with this.

He made a note of the discomfort evolving into irritation and clasped his hands behind his back. “APOLOGY ACCEPTED! SO, WHAT _IS_ IN THE BAG, ANYWAY?”

Grillby let out a quiet, grumpy hiss. “ _.Still none of your business. Where is your brother?”_

_“_ WHY DO YOU NEED TO TALK TO SANS? OH, IS IT ONE OF MY RECIPES THAT YOU’RE TRYING TO EMULATE? I CAN HELP IF YOU WANT!”

Papyrus felt the heat pouring off of Grillby and moved the caviar milk tea out of harm’s way, genuinely smiling. “WHEN I HAVE MY OWN RESTAURANT FOR THE ROYAL GUARD, WHICH I WILL ALSO BE A PART OF, I MIGHT EVEN HIRE YOU AS PART OF MY STAFF!”

The elemental was getting uncomfortably bright to look at. Papyrus gave one final nudge.

“WOULDN’T THAT BE GREAT?”

Grillby’s hair exploded like water poured on a grease fire. Papyrus chuckled inwardly at the outburst.

He laughed, at least, until the snow slid off the roof.

The heat stopped, smothered with a muffled _whomp._ Grillby let out a startled shriek as the avalanche hit, plumes of steam obscuring him from view and one arm flailing from underneath the pile.

Papyrus was over the counter of the station in a split-second, shoveling snow off of the prone monster as fast as he could. “OH MY GOD MISTER GRILLBY ARE YOU OK?!”

Grillby made a pained whine from within the snow. Papyrus dragged him out and sat him down at the station, brushing every last speck of snow off of his ruined suit. “I’MSOSORRYISHOULD’VEREALIZEDTHATCOULDHAPPEN ARE YOU OK?!?”

Grillby’s flames flickered close to his core, weak and dim. He coughed and wiggled his hand in a so-so gesture. Papyrus grabbed the nearest dish and shoved it to his patient.

“HERE THIS IS, UH, WHOLE BAKED TRUFFLES. IT SHOULD GET YOUR ENERGY UP.”

Grillby stared at the offered food. Barely audible, he muttered, “ _where the hell are you even getting this stuff?”_

“EAT.”

He bit into it, flinched, then took another bite. By the time he finished it, his fire was back to its normal hue and intensity.

“ _…”_

“WELL? HOW DO YOU FEEL? I’LL ESCORT YOU BACK TO YOUR HOUSE AND HELP OUT AT THE BAR IF YOU’RE STILL UNWELL. I’LL JUST CLEAN THE TABLES OR WHATEVER YOU NEED JUST DON’T STRAIN YOURSELF PLEASE.”

“ _…Have you thought about working in medicine?”_

Papyrus was in the middle of trying to help Grillby stand. “UH, NO? WHY?”

Grillby let him help him up and leaned on his shoulder. “. _This is mom’s cooking-level healing. It also tastes like cough syrup, somehow.”_

The skeleton stuttered as they trudged back to Snowdin. Grillby was perfectly capable of walking at this point, but Papyrus fussed every time he tried to pull away. It was easier to comply.

“THAT’S NICE OF YOU TO SAY? I THINK? OH, HOW’S YOUR LEG?”

“ _.My leg is fine. Also, if you leave, I won’t have competition.”_

Papyrus glared out of the corner of his socket as they walked, trying to gauge Grillby’s tone.

“WELL… THAT WOULDN’T BE GOOD. COMPETITION IS GOOD FOR BUSINESS. ARE YOU IN ANY PAIN?”

“ _.That’s the opposite of true,”_ Grillby chuckled and ignored the last question. Papyrus’s mothering was sweet but annoying. He preferred bickering. 

Papyrus caught on to the invitation to argue. He thrust out his chin and held his free fist to his chest, scarf fluttering in a magical wind. He stuttered a bit at first, still nervous, but picked up steam. “T-THERE’S NO WAY I COULD ABANDON THE PEOPLE OF SNOWDIN TO WALLOW IN YOUR GREASE PIT! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL BRING GOOD, HEALING FOOD TO THE POPULACE… RIGHT AFTER I GET YOU HOME AND TUCKED IN BED.”

Grillby snorted. “ _.I do not need to be tucked in.”_

“I’M TUCKING YOU IN.”

“ _.No.”_

“YES! NO ARGUING OR ELSE I’LL READ YOU A BEDTIME STORY TOO!”

“ _.Dear Lord,_ no _.”_

“KEEP IT UP AND I’LL MAKE DINNER!”

Grillby made gagging noises, at which Papyrus gasped in mock offense. “ _.I will never eat your cooking again, unless my life depends on it.”_

“OH, YOU WILL. ONCE YOU RECOVER, WE WILL BE THE MOST BITTER OF RIVALS!”

“ _.Yes.”_

_“_ ALWAYS AT EACH OTHER’S THROATS!” The crossed into the edge of Snowdin, walking at a brisk pace.

“ _.Absolutely.”_

“TRYING EACH OTHER’S RECIPES AND OFFERING CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM! COMPETING FOR CUSTOMERS!”

“ _.Papyrus, this is my house.”_

_“_ THE GREAT DRAMA OF SNOWDIN!”

_“.Papyrus.”_

“OUR BLOOD FEUD WILL BE THE TALK OF- OH RIGHT. WANT ME TO WALK YOU IN?”

“ _.No, thank you. I can manage.”_

_“_ ARE YOU SURE?”

“ _.Yes.”_

_“…_ POSITIVE?”

“ _.YES, Papyrus. Thank you.”_

Papyrus fidgeted at the doorway as Grillby let himself in to get into some dryer clothes. “GET BETTER SOON, SO WE CAN GET BACK TO RIVALING, OK?”

“ _.Ok, Papyrus.”_

“I’LL BE HERE TOMORROW TO CHECK ON YOU!”

Grillby started to close the door. “. _Alright, Papyrus.”_

_“_ AND-“

 _“._ Goodbye _, Papyrus.”_

“OK BYE.”

Papyrus stared at the closed door for a moment before skipping back the way they had come, new recipes swirling in his mind. Tomorrow would be a great day.

He had to prepare to DESTROY his new frenemy… and make him some healing spaghetti.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular demand, part 2! 
> 
> Also, I AM still working on WingDing Nightmare. It's just slow.


	3. How Did You Get in my House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it becomes a sick fic

Grillby woke up in a cold sweat, ash flaking off of him and staining the bedsheets. He grumbled, pulled the comforter tighter and tried to flush some heat to his extremities. When he finally admitted that it wasn’t working, he poked his head out of the cocoon.

The clock read 2:31.

Lovely.

Grillby tried to go back to sleep but the chills kept him up. These were the times he wished he were back in Hotland. There, if his core got cold, he could take a lava bath. Here, he just had to snivel and suffer.

He shuddered, hacked up a mouthful of soot and spit it into a handkerchief, rubbing the sticky mess and trying to figure out exactly how sick he was. He might be able to open the bar later, if he got a few more hours sleep.

To do that, he had to warm up. To warm up, he needed to eat. 

The snacks were in the kitchen.

Downstairs.

Grillby nuzzled further into the blankets, watching the minutes pass and shivering. Maybe he could outlast the chills and stay in bed, slightly warmer than the surrounding air. Surely laying cold and miserable was favorable to venturing downstairs and getting something that would actually help?

Grillby groaned at himself, spat out another glob and dragged the blanket cocoon with him, barely aware of his surroundings. He grabbed another handkerchief on his way downstairs to wipe the sweat-ash off his face, careful not to expose any more of his surface than absolutely necessary. The stairway was the worst, requiring that he reach out an arm to steady himself due to illness and grogginess.

Once in the kitchen, he fished the bag of charcoal chips out of the pantry and flopped down at the tiny dining table. He tore the bag open and wolfed a few down, smiling as each one combusted in his belly and warmed him from the inside out. His flames crackled brighter and a little hotter, maybe enough that he could sleep.

The room was silent save for the gentle popping of a less-grumpy elemental. Grillby rose, taking the bag with him, and started walking back to bed. He’d nibble on those until he fell asleep and hopefully be fit for work the next day.

He made it to the window.

Grillby paused. Something wasn’t right. He squinted at the vaguely familiar white and red blur outside, having left his glasses on the nightstand. He leaned closer out of necessity and cupped his hand over the glass to reduce his glare. Even then, he had to lean until what passed for his nose almost touched the glass.

“HI MISTER GRILLBY!”

Grillby screamed obscenities and threw a fireball at the window.

After the smoke cleared, the blur was still there. Color returned to Grillby’s stark white fire as the adrenaline wore off and he found himself capable of coherent sentences.

“ _PAPYRUS, WHY?!”_

“I WANTED TO CHECK ON YOU!” His voice was muffled and tinny through the glass.

“ _AT 3 IN THE MORNING?!”_

 _“_ YES?”

Grillby squinted for a different reason. “ _That… that’s weird, Papyrus.”_

“REALLY?”

Grillby couldn’t answer, stupefied into silence. What was _wrong_ with that family?! He fell into a coughing fit, smoke pouring out of his mouth and soot clogging his throat. He spit it out into the handkerchief and wiped the rest off his tongue, at which the Papyrus blur made a grossed out sound.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

Grillby waved him off, still doubled over. “ _Yes.”_

“YOU SHOULD GET SOME REST. CAN I DO ANYTHING TO HELP?”

“ _I-“_ Grillby choked and spit out more soot. His little freakout had undone all the good the charcoal chips had done. The Papyrus blur fidgeted from side to side.

“MAY I COME IN?”

“ _Ugh,”_ he groaned and cleared his throat of residual phlegm. “ _Sure, whatever.”_

Papyrus let himself in through the unlocked door after banging the snow off his boots, then putting his boots next to the door. Grillby shuffled towards the stairs once more.

“ _Food all around. Help yourself.”_

Of course, Papyrus didn’t take the suggestion and followed him up the stairs instead. He hovered as Grillby took each step carefully. He regretted letting him in, cursing the sick delirium clouding his judgement.

He especially regretted it when he tripped on his own blanket and almost fell flat on his face, only for Papyrus to catch him with blue magic. They made it to the bedroom without further incident.

Grillby flopped face down on the bed and inched himself forward, until his legs were no longer hanging off the edge. “ _Don’t watch me while I sleep.”_

“OK. JUST YELL IF YOU NEED ME. GOOD NIGHT MR. GRILLBY.”

“ _Mmphm.”_

\---

Grillby woke up from a particularly vivid fever dream and wiped the ash from his face, then coughed the night’s accumulated soot into the used handkerchief. He pawed for his glasses, ran his fingers through his hair to stoke the flames and stumbled out of bed. He could work today. It’d suck, but he could do it.

Halfway through getting dressed, he heard commotion downstairs. He hissed and stalked down the stairs, ready to send whatever teenage brat had broken in crying to their irresponsible parents. Fire wreathed his arms, weaker than usual, but enough to send ice monsters home half melted.

He did not expect Papyrus.

“ _What.”_

“OH HELLO MR. GRILLBY! YOU’RE UP!” Papyrus either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the fire bullets fizzling out around Grillby, spinning around with a hot mug of something in his hands.

_“How did you get in my house.”_

“YOU SAID I COULD COME IN, REMEMBER?”

“… _That was real?”_

Papyrus frowned. “GOODNESS, YOU REALLY ARE SICK. SIT DOWN. I WILL MAKE BREAKFAST.”

“ _No, you won’t.”_ Grillby grumbled and made his way to the kitchen to get breakfast started. Papyrus scowled, but complied and moved out of the way.

“YOU SHOULD REALLY REST. I’VE HEARD THAT’S IMPORTANT FOR RECOVERY.”

“ _You’ve heard that, huh.”_ Grillby paused and sniffed the innocent-looking coffee Papyrus had made. He couldn’t smell much, but it seemed alright. He poured himself a cup while his self-invited guest postured.

“OH YES, THE GREAT PAPYRUS NEVER FALLS ILL! I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IT’S LIKE!”

“ _Bull.”_ Grillby risked a sip. It was surprisingly good, like toasted wood shavings. Unexpected and unorthodox, but good.

Papyrus gave him a funny look. “ER… I, UM, I SUPPOSE I HAVE SOME IDEA?”  

“ _Yeah?”_ Grillby set about cooking for his guest. He tapped into his magic to get some eggs frying, only using a little bit of grease to coat the pan for Papyrus’s sake.

“I… GUESS I USED TO GET SICK WHEN- OH DEAR YOU LOOK AWFUL!!!”

_“Rude.”_

“NO, YOU’RE REALLY PALE!”

Grillby looked down at his arms, faded yellow. “ _I’m fine.”_

Papyrus frowned and watched breakfast over Grillby’s shoulder. “ARE YOU SURE YOU SHOULD BE MAKING YOURSELF BREAKFAST? I UNDERSTAND IF YOU FEEL OBLIGATED TO DENY MY COOKING BECAUSE OF OUR RIVALRY, BUT COULD WE HAVE A CEASE-FIRE UNTIL YOU’RE BETTER? PLEASE?”

_“This isn’t for me. It’s for you.”_

_“_ OH! THAT’S NICE BUT UNNECESSARY! REALLY!” Papyrus eyed the eggshell in Grillby’s hands.

“ _You’re my guest.”_

“NO, I’M YOUR CARETAKER.”

“ _Pfft.”_

Papyrus squawked and stepped backwards, hand over sternum. “WHAT’S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!”

“ _I don’t need a caretaker.”_

“THAT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKED LIKE LAST NIGHT!”

Grillby popped, his hair writhing and snapping. “ _Do not hold that over my head. I didn’t ask you to come.”_

“WELL TOO BAD. I CAME ANYWAY, AND I WON’T HOLD IT OVER YOUR HEAD IF YOU START ACTING SENSIBLE AND ALLOW ME TO AT LEAST COOK FOR MYSELF.”

Grillby glared at him before huffing and stepping away from the stove. “ _Fine.”_

Papyrus strutted over. “ _THANK_ YOU. NOW WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO EAT?”

“ _Citrus wood.”_ Grillby waited for the standard confusion at his diet, but Papyrus seemed nonplussed.

“OH GOOD! I’VE HEARD CITRUS FOODS ARE GOOD FOR PREVENTING AND TREATING ILLNESS! VERY SMART, MISTER GRILLBY. MAY I SEE THAT?” Papyrus reached for the eggshell Grillby still carried. He handed it over without argument.

Papyrus proceeded to grind it up into the frying egg.

“ _What.”_

 _“_ WHAT WHAT?”

Grillby blinked at the abomination before him. “ _Why…?”_

Papyrus shrugged. “EGGSHELLS ARE A GOOD SOURCE OF CALCIUM.”

“ _I... guess that makes sense.”_

Grillby turned and dug out the citrus chips from his personal pantry, pouring them in a bowl with some kerosene oil. Papyrus soon joined him with his entire egg, setting a full set of silverware in its proper place.

“OH, CEREAL!”

“… _In a way.”_

 _“_ EXCELLENT CHOICE.”

Papyrus closed his eyes for a moment before picking the egg into tiny pieces. Grillby watched him take dainty bites, wiping his mandible periodically while he sipped his own breakfast. Hard to believe that this prim and proper princess was related to Sans.

Speaking of Sans, Grillby needed to get the bar prepped.  

 

Once finished with his breakfast, Grillby burned his dishes clean at the sink, coughed into a paper towel and incinerated the mess. Papyrus put his dishes in the sink and stared down at them, hands hovering near the faucet but curled away, like it would bite him. Papyrus laughed nervously and looked to Grillby.

“UM. HOW DOES YOUR SINK WORK?”

Grillby wiped his face with a towel and shouldered Papyrus out of his way.

“ _I need to do it, unless you know fire magic.”_

“I COULD LEARN?”

Grillby just cleaned the plate and unnecessary silverware, then ushered Papyrus towards the door.

“ _I need to get dressed and set up the bar. Go home.”_

Papyrus dug his heels in at the threshold, halting Grillby’s attempts to push him out. “YOU SHOULD REALLY REST.”

“ _Ok mom, now get out.”_

 _“_ BUT-“

Grillby gave a rough shove, but Papyrus had some freakish anti-push magic. He liked that idea better than admitting he was too sick to force Papyrus out.

Papyrus played along, though, taking a half step forward before he turned around, frowning. “ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, I WILL LET YOU BE. BUT MISTER GRILLBY,” he put on a serious face. Not scary serious, but somber.

“IF YOU NEED… IF YOU _WANT_ ANYTHING, I AM MORE THAN WILLING TO ASSIST. OK? I WON’T JUDGE YOU. YOU WILL HEAL FASTER IF YOU LET OTHERS HELP.”

Grillby gagged internally at the sap, but kept it off his face for the most part.

“ _…Thank you, Papyrus.”_

Without further argument, Papyrus left. Grillby mulled over the offer for a few moments before grabbing the cleaning supplies.

He could think about it later.  


	4. He's a Pretty Brutal Kind of Guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Papyrus is self-aware

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You there, hiding from family drama on Independence Day  
> I see you  
> ;)

Grillby wiped down the counters in preparation for a long, painful day. He pulled the chairs off the tables and arranged them as his patrons liked and expected, prepped the kitchen and kept the food sterile as best he could. His intermittent coughing fits delayed his work and several guard dogs idled outside by the time he opened.

He muttered an apology. The dogs yipped and said it was fine, took their usual seats and ordered their coffee. Grillby tossed out another sooty rag when nobody would notice, once they filled the bar with the clatter of dishes.

Not that anyway ever paid attention to the monster behind the counter.

Customers filed in and out as the day progressed, each ordering from the sick elemental and then going on their way without a second glance. It was routine, normal.

Exhausting. 

He hated being sick.

At around ten, Hamster stormed in and leaned on the counter. “Hey Grillbz, I need something to get the taste of Papyrus’s crap out of my mouth.”

Big Mouth snickered and yelled across the bar. “What’d he force on you this time?”

“God, it was a friggen cheese pâté.”

Grillby poured him a drink and sidled closer. “ _That doesn’t sound terrible.”_

“If anyone else made it, sure, but he made it with goat and water buffalo cheese. Where does he even get this stuff?!”

“Oh man, Hamster, one time he tried to make escargot.”

“Ew.”

“He ended up getting attached to the snail and ‘returned it to the wild’.”

The patrons leapt on the gossip like starving rats on a Cheeto. Grillby… was not as pleased as he should’ve been.

“He made us a candy-coated bone.”

“(It was peppermint jalapeño flavored)” the Dogi whined.

“Ugh, you too?” Doggo tried to light a dog treat. Grillby reached over the counter and snuffed it out with a harsh glare.

“ _Don’t smoke in my bar.”_

“Ey, since when?!”

Grilbby didn’t bother with an explanation. His bar, his rules. He stood a little taller so he could bear down on Doggo, make him back down. Doggo squinted at the constantly shifting fire before he shoved treat in his pocket and averted his eyes.

“Alright, alright, geez.”

Grillby ducked away to the kitchen to cough up another mouthful of soot before the lunch rush kicked in and returned with Red Bird and Fish’s usual drinks. They walked in just as he got to the counter, chattering to each other, and sat down at the corner stools. The other patrons were still in full swing.

“I mean he’s so pleased with himself. How do I tell him his cooking sucks? He’d probably Fall Down and die right there!” Hamster shrugged, the leather of his jacket squeaking.

“Isn’t he a little old to run a glorified lemonade stand?”

“Ooo, we talking about Papyrus?” Fish interrupted. Bird scooted so he could watch the whole bar.

“Yeah. Did you see what he made today?”

Grillby burned the cups clean with a harsh flame, streaks of red running through his hair. It was almost noon. Sans should come soon and shut them up.

“Nah, what was it?”

“Cheese pâté and chicken stroganoff.”

“He said he used cream of celery soup instead of cream of mushroom, ‘because many of my adoring fans dislike mushrooms’,” Hamster put on a nasal falsetto and laughed, then looked at Grillby. “Come on, isn’t that silly?”

Red Bird put on the tone he used when ‘translating’ for Grillby. “He has no idea what he’s doing.”

“Yeah, not like you, Grillbz,” Big Mouth said and raised his glass. Hamster, Dizzy and Doggo whooped, mistaking Grillby’s sparking for approval.

While normally he’d appreciate the praise, he didn’t have the energy for this.

Grillby gave a lukewarm thumb up and excused himself to the kitchen for his own lunch and some time away from the gossip. He knew fuming wouldn’t help anything, so he took some deep breaths and ate some petrol pudding. He stayed in his sanctuary until he heard the bell ring, then stalked out to serve his new customer. Sitting still left him foggy-headed and grumpier than usual.

Thankfully it was Sans, which forced the rest of the patrons to change topics. Grillby muffled a sneeze in his elbow and tossed Sans his butt rag, for if and when he pulled a “went right through me” joke.

“mornin’.”

Grillby nodded and drummed his fingers on the counter while Red Bird translated, trying to stoke himself up to a normal complexion.

“Grillbz says good morning to you too! What do you want?”

“can i get a _grillbz_ cheese?”

Grillby nodded again and shuffled away to prepare the sandwich, managing to avoid contaminating the food with soot. Not that Sans would care, but Grillby had standards for the both of them.

Bird left for a different seat by the time Grillby returned. Sans sat with his elbows propped on the table and dragged his dingy comb over his skull, only glancing up once Grillby set the plate down.

“…you ok?”

“ _Fine.”_

 _“_ you look kinda burnt out.”

“ _I’m fine.”_

“…huh.” Sans eyed him, oblivious to what everyone in the bar had said about his brother. “well sorry i missed breakfast. i woke up and my station was trashed, completely snowed in. you wouldn’t happen to know what happened, wouldj’a?”

“ _…No?”_

Sans’s sockets narrowed and his grin spread a little wider. “alright then.”

He leaned back on his stool and popped his spine. “ya know, paps has been acting weird.”

Grillby hummed and got some dishes to clean, feigning disinterest. He did not want to have this conversation and admit to being taken care of. As soon as he returned with the dishes, Sans started where he left off.

“he snuck out of the house last night. turns out, he's really freaking quiet when he wants to be. go figure.”

“ _Mm?”_

 _“_ didn't realize he was gone until, three? ish?” sneakin’ out is pretty weird for him. normally he announces everything he does, but hey, he’s at the age he can do what he wants. i didn’t get too rattled until about seven when he normally makes breakfast. i went to look for him at my station and the whole thing was buried in snow.”

“so i’m freaking out at this point. there was food everywhere, and you know it’s not like him to make a mess. there must’ve been some sorta accident. I called him and he said he was fine, but he would NOT tell me where he was.”

The lights seemed to dim a little as Sans leaned forward, his eyelights brighter than Grillby’s flame. “i went snoopin’ around and found a bag of ravioli under the pile.”

The theatrics had long lost their charm on Grillby, but he still flickered when Sans’s eyes guttered out. **“You sure you don’t know what happened?”**

The door rebounding off the wall interrupted them, a gallant, cheery Papyrus strutting in.

“SANS, I FIXED YOUR STATION! YOU CAN RESUME WORKING NOW!”

The volume and movement caused a short lull in the hum of the bar as everyone turned to look at him. Papyrus froze like a deer in headlights at the attention. His eyes darted around the room and he waved, stiff and exaggerated, only to receive passing acknowledgement. The dogs at least waved back before they returned to their conversation. He sighed and walked up to the counter, gently took Sans by the shoulders and steered him towards the door.

“COME ON, SANS. TELL ME IF IT’S FIXED ENOUGH.” Sans narrowed his eyes and gave Grillby an “I’m watching you” gesture as Papyrus pushed him past the threshold. Papyrus closed the door behind them and the bar returned to its standard bustle, Grillby alone behind the counter.

He stood for a second after they left and blinked down at the untouched sandwich, all sad and lonely on the counter. He started to cover it with some cling wrap.

The door opened again and Papyrus waltzed back in. The bar went silent as everyone stared at him once again, for longer. Papyrus did a lot of unusual things, but returning to Grillby’s was an unfamiliar weird, ripe for gossip. He pretended not to notice the stares and sauntered up to the counter.

“HELLO MISTER GRILLBY! HOW ARE YOU?”

“ _…Fine? You?”_

 _“_ EXCELLENT!”

Papyrus stood there with his hands to his chest, bouncing lightly in place. Nobody said anything.

“Um…” Papyrus leaned in and dropped his voice to a normal person’s volume. “How do you feel?”

“ _I’m fine.”_

 _“_ Are you su-“

“ _Either order something or get out. People are staring.”_

Papyrus looked hurt for a split second before he shoved it away with visible effort, determined smile in its place. “CAN I GET A STRAWBERRY MILKSHAKE?”

Grillby glared at Hamster as he turned to go to the kitchen, though he was busy fiddling with the jukebox. Papyrus hissed to get Grillby’s attention before he got too far away.

“Can I come with? I need to talk to you.”

“ _No customers in my kitchen.”_ He dimmed to a softer, warmer light once everyone seemed to lose interest. _“I’ll be right out.”_

Papyrus pouted but stayed put, tapping his hands on the counter and squinting to read the labels on the bottles behind the counter.

Not talking to anyone.

When Grillby returned with the shake, he saw Papyrus staring at one in particular.

“ _Want some?”_

 _“_ Huh? OH NO, I DON’T DRINK… In public. It probably wouldn’t help my chances getting into the guard.”

Grillby just looked at the entire Snowdin division of the royal guard, currently gambling and drinking in their corner. He extended his entire arm in a broad sweep to gesture at them. Papyrus chewed his lip with faint irritation.

“...I am aware. OH THANK YOU!” Papyrus grabbed up the milkshake and took a sip, humming in appreciation. “MMPH, THIS IS GREAT, THANK YOU. ANYWAY, I WANTED TO ASK-“

“ _Did you just compliment my cooking?”_

“OF COURSE, THIS IS GOOD! IT’S NOT GREASY.”

He put on his best sneer and tried to look regal talking around a straw. “A BIT… PLEBEIAN, BUT TASTY NONETHELESS.”

“ _You ordered it.”_

Grillby coughed into his elbow again. Papyrus waited until he finished, then offered a sip of his milkshake. Grillby waved him off and fished a napkin out of his pocket.

“Are you su-“

“ _I am fine.”_

 “Ok, ok. ANYWAY, I wanted to talk to you about Sans.”

“ _Usually he talks about_ you _.”_

“OH DEAR.” Papyrus made a show of rolling his eyes, though a genuine smile crinkled his sockets and the corners of his mouth.

“ _All good things.”_ Grillby added.

Papyrus glanced around at everyone in the bar, who had ignored him once again. “WELL OF COURSE.” He leaned in closer and actually whispered for once. “Has he told anyone about our… thing?”

“ _Thing.”_

“You know, the thing we do. Sometimes in the woods, sometimes at our houses where nobody can see...”

“ _Papyrus, you really need to work on your phrasing.”_

Papyrus huffed and took a grumpy sip of his shake. “ANYWAY. I know he knows, but I don’t know if anyone else knows. Do you know?”

“ _No. Why do you care?”_

Papyrus stared blank-faced and took a small sip from his milkshake. He blinked and bit his… lip? Grillby didn’t care enough to question it and instead waited for a response.

“UM… I… do? I… CARE ABOUT MY IMAGE! That’s it. I CANNOT LET SLANDEROUS RUMORS MAKE ME SEEM PETTY OR OBESSIVE!”

“ _You are petty and obsessive.”_

Papyrus glared and sucked at the dregs of the milkshake to Hamster and Bird’s irritation. Grillby saw the sharp glances they threw at Papyrus’s back and popped at them, flickered a threatening red. They scowled and returned to their conversation.

“ _…I don’t think Sans told anyone. He rarely talks about personal things.”_ They bonded over that. Together, they had dirt on everyone in town.

“OH GOOD, I’M NOT CRAZY.”

Fish snickered. Papyrus winced.

“I MEAN, I’M GLAD I’M NOT THE ONLY PERSON TO NOTICE THAT.”

“ _Mmph,”_ Grillby muttered and got out his washrag. He didn’t want anything to do with family drama. Lord knew he had enough of that with his own brother.

“ _Fifteen g,”_ he said and reached for the dirty glass. Papyrus dropped twenty on the counter, always a decent tipper. Grillby accepted it and covered another cough in his elbow, turning his back to Papyrus to let him know that line of conversation had ended.

Papyrus drummed his hands on the counter looking uncomfortable before he finally stood. “WELL I APPRECIATE YOUR TIME, AND THANK YOU.”

The worry melted away, replaced by expertly faked confidence. “SOON WE SHALL GET BACK TO OUR… _STUFF.”_ The goober did air quotes around stuff.

Minimal progress was still progress. Grillby sparked and muttered, _“Better. Goodbye.”_

Papyrus saluted – incorrectly, like a human would instead of the monster salute – spun on his heel and marched out the door.

Thankfully nobody started talking about him once he left, too absorbed in their own worlds. Grillby stood alone behind the counter and continued his work.

 

Patrons trickled out after the lunch rush and he more or less had the bar to himself, save for a sad old bear and Dizzy working herself into a flirting stupor. Two more drinks and he was cutting her off, though he wouldn’t chase her out. He didn’t think she had anywhere to go.

 

The night crew returned for the evening rush: Hamster, the dogs, Big Mouth, a couple Bunnies and a few people from Waterfall. Sans popped in to make vague, empty threats. Sickness had weakened Grillby for his struggle through the busiest time of the day.

He got through it by talking even less than usual, content to let Bird spout nonsense to anyone in earshot. He tried to keep his flame stoked bright, to appear healthy, and to do so had to take more breaks than usual. He even had a few drinks himself

Eh, it was his bar.

Thankfully little changed in Snowdin, so he got through the night on autopilot. He had the motions down to an art, yet still lagged behind with cleaning and cooking. Irritation clung to his core, not enough to aid his sputtering flame of course, just enough to sour his mood.

Times like this made him reconsider hiring some help. He had always wanted to hire his little niece, though her father raised her allergic to work. Wonderful, beautiful girl, but she spent all her time lazing around with the squid from Hotland. He’d never forgive his brother for ruining a perfectly good child. He used the bitterness as fuel to get through the night.

 

Closing time rolled around, but not before Grillby wanted nothing more than to fall down and smolder in the corner. He had a dozen dishes piled in the sink for the morning, and since he was too frugal to buy surplus dishes for this sort of occasion, he _had_ to take care of them in the morning. He could power through it if he got to bed early, but to do that, he had to close on time. Which meant it was time to kick some people out.

Sans had left to do who cares what as well as half the dogs, leaving Dizzy, the Dogi and Hamster’s group. He groaned at the thought of strong-arming the drunk bunny out in the cold – she complained and whined at the door and no amount of sweet talking could make her leave until she was damn ready.

Normally he felt bad. Today, not so much.

Grillby clattered some dishes together as a polite “I’m cleaning, get the hell out of my restaurant.” Dogaressa perked at the noise and brayed, taking herself and her husband back home. Hamster took the hint and took Bird and Fish with him, probably off to harass the teenagers in the woods. Dizzy made what she considered flirty eyes at Hamster as they walked out, then slumped and grumbled into her water when he walked faster.

Grillby cleaned around her, started stacking chairs on the tables, and made no effort to hide his coughing fits. Maybe she was secretly germaphobic?

Nope. Now she had her cheek resting on the dirty table.

Great.

He finished putting the stools up and lo, Dizzy remained. She stirred when he passed uncomfortably close sweeping, the bristles dragging over her bare feet.

“Oh heeeey Grillby!”

“ _Mm.”_

“’Re you still sing-“

“ _Cleaning so I can close? Yes, yes I am.”_

Dizzy lifted her feet so he could sweep under them, unfazed by the rejection. “You work too harrrd.”

Grillby nodded and swept with renewed aggression. “ _I’m closing.”_

“Okey!”

Dizzy snuggled farther into the booth. Grillby rolled his eyes and went back to the counter to wipe down a few dishes while he waited for her to leave. As much as she irritated him, it was too cold outside to literally throw her out.

He had no idea how she was still so drunk, unless she snuck the other patron’s drinks? Illness left him less alert than usual so Lord knew how much she smuggled.

He got to the counter when the door burst open.

Grillby felt his core rise a few degrees as he stooped and curled to glare at the intruder, red bloodying his extremities.

Papyrus strutted in and gave the restaurant a quick scan. Seeing it empty, he dropped the grand pretense and padded up to the counter, nervous grin on his face. Grillby straightened into a friendlier stance.

“HELLO MISTER GRILLBY.”

“ _Hello.”_

“I SEE YOU’RE CLOSING. MAY I ASSIST?”

Grillby considered what would result in earlier sleep – arguing with Papyrus so he could do it right himself, or letting the boy help and fixing it later. He chose the latter and threw a dishrag at Papyrus, then pointed wordlessly at the dish pile.

“ON IT! THANK YOU FOR ALLOWING ME TO HELP!”

Grillby grumbled and wiped down the counters and available tables, then wiped around Dizzy. She had the grace to look uncomfortable, but not enough to _leave_ **.** Not even Papyrus humming his theme song got her to go. Instead, she started singing about wanting a date, any date, just a boy on any day of the year.

Eventually, they ran out of things to clean. Grillby returned to the counter and clutched his temples, Dizzy with her back to them.

“ _I always close half an hour late because of her.”_

Papyrus scrubbed at an invisible spot on one of the mugs and tapped his foot, face fixed in a tired scowl. He squinted at Dizzy’s ears poking over the booth, twitching in time with her off-key singing, and sighed. “I HAVE A PLAN.”

He took a deep breath and broke into an obnoxiously bright smile, then pranced over to Dizzy. Grillby watched with interest. And irritation. Mostly irritation.

“Ugh, Gaaawwwwd I’ll take anYONE. I just hate going home alone! Nobody’s ever theerrrre.”  

Papyrus peeked his head over the booth, startling her.

“NYEH? YOU SEEM TO BE IN DIRE NEED OF AN ESCORT! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD BE HONORED TO TAKE A WONDERFUL LADY SUCH AS YOURSELF HOME. PERHAPS A MOVIE? SOME WHOLESOME HOME COOKING?”

Dizzy stared at him open-mouthed, a billion things swimming through her foggy mind. She settled on one and her mouth formed the motions.

“Uhhhhh… actually, I kinda need t’go… I, uh, have plans I… f’rgot about. Sorry.”

Papyrus bounced out of her way, still beaming. Dizzy flopped out of the booth and shuffled to the door. “Tanks though! Ver… Very sweet’f you!”

Grillby blinked, unable to look away from the genius train wreck in front of him. Papyrus stood ramrod straight in the middle of the bar, hand on hip and the other in a practiced wave. “OF COURSE! HAVE A WONDERFUL NIGHT AND TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF! PERHAPS WE COULD CATCH UP SOME OTHER TIME?”

“Y-yeah, sure. G’night Papy.”

“GOOD NIGHT!”

As soon as the door closed behind her, Papyrus dropped into a relaxed stance.

“GOD I HATE BEING RIGHT ALL THE TIME,” he hissed.

Grillby sat, dumbstruck, and did what he always did for customers that got shot down. He offered the strongest thing he had.

Papyrus waved it off and laughed, though it grated wrong. “NYEH HEH, MY BRILLIANT PLAN WORKED.”

“ _Did you just get her to leave by flirting?”_

 _“_ YEP.” He beamed with pride, though the corners of his mouth twitched in a grimace.

_“That’s… sad. You didn’t have to do that.”_

_“_ EH, I’M USED TO IT.”

Papyrus shrugged and picked up the dishrag again. “SO WHAT’S LEFT?”

They finished cleaning Dizzy’s booth in somewhat awkward, mostly companionable silence. Papyrus managed to clean the dishes _almost_ as well as Grillby would’ve, good enough for his customers.

 

As Papyrus turned to go, Grillby grabbed him by the shoulder and held out his fist with 20g. Papyrus fist-bumped him instead, made an explosion sound effect and popped his hand back with finger wiggles.

“… _What.”_

“SECRET HANDSHAKE!”

“ _No.”_ Grillby forcibly took Papyrus’s hand and dropped the coins in his palm. Papyrus drew back, flipped the coins over his knuckles and slipped them back into Grillby’s hand in one blurred motion. Grillby huffed and went to return them but Papyrus danced out of the way.

“ _You helped. Let me pay you.”_

 _“_ I REQUIRE NO COMPENSATION! IT WAS MY PLEASURE TO EMBARRASS MYSELF!”

“ _Yeah, sure, whatever. Take the money.”_

 _“_ NOPE.”

“ _Take it.”_

“NU-UH.”

“ _Papyrus. Take it.”_

“IF YOU INSIST, DONATE THE MONEY TO CHARITY. I DON’T NEED IT.”

“ _I don’t give handouts and I don’t like taking them. Let me do something.”_

Papyrus groaned and rolled his eyes. “UGH, FINE, IF YOU _HAVE_ TO DO SOMETHING…”

He looked away for a moment, rubbed the back of his skull. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. “PERHAPS WE COULD… HANG OUT? SOMETIME? EVENTUALLY?”

“ _Well-“_

Papyrus backed up and put his hands in a placating gesture. “I MEAN ONLY IF YOU WANT TO! UH, I MEAN.”

He coughed and straightened, false confidence pouring off of him in waves. “I AM A BUSY SKELETON, SO I MAY NOT BE AVAILABLE TO ‘HANG OUT,’ BUT I WILL TRY MY HARDEST TO BE THERE!”

“ _Papyrus, don’t do that.”_

 _“_ DO WHAT?“

“ _Don’t pretend you’re hot shit. If you want something, ask like a normal person.”_

Papyrus balked, unused to the sharp tone. “SORRY, SORRY,” he stammered.

He took a deep breath and un-cringed. “UM… HOW DO NORMAL PEOPLE ASK?”

Jiminy Christmas. Grillby picked his words carefully and clasped his hands in front of his glasses, then lowered them. “ _Like this: Papyrus, do you want to come over this Sunday for lunch?”_

“OH. O…KAY? SO… GRILLBY, DO YOU WANT TO COME OVER THIS SUNDAY FOR LUNCH? …IS THAT IT?”  
He’d learn to make his own sentences one day. “ _Yes, but I have to work Sunday.”_

“OH… SO WHY DID YOU OFFER?”

“ _That was just an example. Wednesdays work best for me.”_

“I… I TRAIN WITH UNDYNE ON WEDNESDAY. MAYBE I COULD CONVINCE HER I BROKE MY SPINE OR SOMETHING?“

There was something seriously wrong with this family. Grillby massaged his temples to stave off the contagious insanity. “ _Papyrus no. We can schedule around your plans. When does your training end?”_

“UH… IT DEPENDS?”

“ _Can you give me an estimate?”_

 _“_ WE USUALLY FINISH BY 5 IN THE AFTERNOON. UNDYNE LIKES TO GO TO THE DUMP TO HANG OUT WITH SOME GIRL SHE MET AROUND THEN.”

“ _Would dinner work for you around 6?”_

“ABSOLUTELY!” Papyrus bounced in place, positively beaming. “WHO’S COOKING?”

Grillby shook his head. “ _It’s my house. Iwill cook.”_

Papyrus had the ultimate puppy face, sockets sparkling and lightly chewing his bottom lip.

“ _…You can help.”_

“YAY!” Papyrus ran around in a circle, making Grillby’s head spin.

“ _Alright, I’m glad you’re enthused. Now good night.”_

Papyrus went for a hug. Grillby stepped back and offered his hand to shake. “OH GOOD NIGHT MISTER GRILLBY! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!”

“ _Mmmhm.”_ Grillby ushered him out the door, though Papyrus paused at the threshold to look over his shoulder.

“GOOD NIGHT MISTER GRILLBY. AGAIN, IF YOU NE- IF YOU _WANT_ ANYTHING, I AM A MERE PHONECALL AWAY. OR A SNOWBALL’S THROW, IF THE TAX WOULD BE CHEAPER THAN SERVICE CHARGES.”

“ _I appreciate that. Now. Good. Night.”_

Papyrus stepped outside and stood waving until Grillby closed and locked the door. Only then did he hear the quiet footsteps crunching off towards the skeleton house. Grillby shut off the lights and let himself relax, dim oranges reflecting off the polished wood, and took a moment to process what just happened.

He actually closed at a decent hour with Papyrus’s help.

He hated the fact a lot less than he thought he would.

Grillby trudged to bed with hundreds of thoughts struggling through his addled mind. He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, expectations for Wednesday chasing him into his dreams.

 

He might have even looked forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was like pulling these long, thin brainworms out of my head through my nose with a pair of tweezers and every time one broke, my train of thought derailed, EXPLODED like something out of a Michael Bay movie, and then I had to wait for a replacement.  
> Oh, and after I collected enough worms, I had to crochet a sweater with them. I do not know how to crochet.  
> In other words, it was hard.  
> BUT! I persevered! This chapter is done! I think this is the end of the plot driven stuff and now it’ll just be a collection of scenes that can be read independently. Hopefully. That’s what this was supposed to be in the beginning :P  
> Happy Independence Day to my fellow Americans! To everyone else, uh, happy Wednesday my dudes.  
> Also, feel free to drop by on [my Tumblr!](followerofmercy.tumblr.com) I'm pretty chatty.  
> EDIT: OK AnonJ inspired a wonderful idea! If you want to give Papyrus a hug, either ask or message me on Tumblr or email me your monstersona/avatar/whatever, and I'll try to work them giving our favorite sass bean a hug into the upcoming chapters. I'll take characters until July 13th, 2018.


	5. Fashionably Early

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Papyrus says "crotchety." Hehe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is actually somewhat chronological! I now truly have the freedom to write what I please.

A musical knock interrupted Grillby’s preparations at precisely 5:30. He glared at the clock and burnt his hands clean, then wiped the ash off on his apron.

Of course Papyrus came half an hour early. Grillby was just mad he didn’t expect it.

Thankfully Papyrus caught him at a moment he could step away – still, his guest could wait until he got the table set. Grillby pulled out a bucket of ice with some fruity white wine and stuck it on the middle of his dining room table, put out some glasses and napkins and stepped back to check his work.

“ _One minute,”_ he yelled to the door when Papyrus knocked again, then returned to his survey. 

It was an appropriate setup for a frie- for a guest, not so formal to imply anything, not trashy, just nice enough to make his guest feel special.

He got the feeling people rarely invited Papyrus.

Another knock, more urgent, rang through the house, confirming Grillby’s suspicions.  The boy had no social grace. Then again, one could only live so long with Sans before some bad habits rubbed off.

Grillby shuffled up to the door and opened it in a fluid sweep, then froze, gaze fixed on the spectacle in the snow.

“ _…The hell are you wearing?”_

Papyrus puffed out his chest, decked out in… a tuxedo. A fitted tuxedo. Grillby glanced down at his own loungers and loose shirt, then up at _that._

“I GOT OUT MY OLD TUX!”

“ _Why?!”_

How? Grillby squinted at the cut and material, looking for any indication that it was fake. _He_ didn’t have clothes that nice. He wasn’t even sure Asgore kept clothes that nice. How did this man with no stable job have a tuxedo lying around?

 “I READ IT IN A MANUAL.” Papyrus tugged at his collar and shrugged, completely comfortable. Grillby would’ve assumed he bought the tux special for the occasion except for how naturally he wore it. “WHY, AM I UNDERDRESSED?”

“ _Son, no. You are incredibly overdressed. You wear tuxedos to weddings and… other things like that. I’m not really sure when else.”_

“HUH. WHOOPSIE.” Papyrus scratched his mandible. “THAT EXPLAINS WHY PEOPLE GAVE ME LOOKS AT SUZY’S BRIDAL SHOWER…”

“ _…Were you invited?”_

Papyrus drew back, sneer on his face. “OF COURSE I WAS! HOW OBLIVIOUS DO YOU THINK I AM!?”

Grillby chose his words carefully as he stepped back and gestured for Papyrus to enter. “ _Bridal showers are usually for women.”_

“THERE WERE LOTS OF WOMEN THERE!”

“ ** _Just_** _women, Papyrus.”_

Papyrus squinted and chewed his lip. “Huh. ANYWAY.” He flapped his hand around towards the house and Grillby. “WHAT SHOULD I WEAR FOR EVENTS SUCH AS THESE?”

“ _Casual unless someone explicitly tells you otherwise.”_  

“ODD.”

_Nope. You’re the odd one._

Grillby didn’t say that out loud. Instead, he tried stamp out the discomfort of standing there in glorified pajamas next to a man in a tuxedo and led Papyrus to the table. His guest had his own plans.

The irritation rolled off Papyrus like water off a duck. He leapt in front of Grillby and pranced around, hopping from foot to foot and fingers interlaced at his chin. He strode around the living room, taking in all the furniture and the sparse knickknacks.

“YOUR HOUSE LOOKS A LOT NICER WHEN I’M NOT WORRIED YOU’RE GOING TO KICK THE BUCKET.”

“ _Thank you?”_

He picked up a picture frame, one of the rare family photos and ran his gloved thumb over the frame. “IT’S BEAUTIFUL. THAT’S… FUKU? WHO’S THE YELLOW GUY?”

Grillby plucked the picture out of his hand and set it back in its place. “ _My brother Cole. Come on.”_

Grillby led the way to the kitchen where he had the ingredients out for dinner. Papyrus dropped his fixation on the décor and followed, keeping pace behind Grillby for once.

“WHAT’S THIS?”

“ _Ravioli soup. Better than it sounds.”_

He ushered him forward to the cheeses, spices and wonton wrappers spread on the counter. “ _I called my father for the recipe. The broth is over there.”_

He gestured to a simmering pot of soup, complete save for the ravioli dumplings.

Papyrus held his hands behind his back and leaned over the counter, cocked his head to take it all in. After a moment, he looked back at Grillby. “I LOVE ITALIAN!”

“ _I noticed.”_

All of Snowdin noticed. People all the way out in Hotland probably noticed.

“IT’S JUST FUN FOOD. SO MANY SHAPES.”

Papyrus rocked on his heels and hopped back when Grillby nudged him out of the way. Grillby tossed all the ingredients for the ravioli filling into a bowl and started to season them, a little basil, pepper. He reached for the oregano but stopped short when Papyrus made a face.

“ _Not a fan?”_

He squinted. “SOMETHING LIKE THAT.”

Papyrus maneuvered to look over Grillby’s shoulder, pulling off his evening gloves in the process. “ANYWAY, WHAT KIND OF CHEESE IS THAT?”

Grillby started mashing the ingredients together, sans oregano. “ _Ricotta and mozzarella.”_

“I HAVE SOME NARWHAL CHEESE AT MY HOUSE IF YOU WANT TO ADD SOME!”

Grillby paused to raise an eyebrow at him, not even caring how. “… _What does that taste like?”_

“ODDLY FISHY.”

“ _Then… no.”_

Papyrus pouted. “IT’S FANCY! EXOTIC!”

“ _Pap, some things don’t go together. They’re unnatural.”_ He started balling cheese mix into the prepared ravioli casings. “ _You wouldn’t put ketchup in a milkshake.”_

“I MEAN SANS DOES.”

Grillby sidestepped so Papyrus could help him fold the dumplings. “ _Sans is a sad little bone gremlin with no taste.”_

 _“_ TRUE.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes. Papyrus left tiny skull and crossbones with his thumbs in the soft dough. Grillby couldn’t manage the same with his thicker hands.

 

-

 

“OH, HAVE YOU TOLD SANS ABOUT OUR LITTLE RIVALRY?”

“ _No.”_

“GREAT! PLEASE DON’T.”

Grillby gathered the finished raviolis together and waited for Papyrus to finish the last one, then dumped them all in the broth to simmer. “ _Why not?”_

“PLOT, OBVIOUSLY.”

Grillby huffed as he cleaned up the mess, back to Papyrus. “ _Who are you, Mettaton?”_ He had nothing but distaste for the flamboyant, frivolous-

“OH MY GOODNESS YOU THINK SO?! I LOVE HIM!”

Grillby sideyed Papyrus, who beamed and bounced on the balls of his feet. He had a small blush on his cheekbones and lights in his eyes.

“ _…Sure.”_

 

Grillby scorched the dishes clean while Papyrus came down from the praise high. He felt his guest’s eyes on his back while he worked, then heard the gentle tap of his foot.

“THIS LOOKS LOVELY, BUT WHAT ARE YOU MAKING FOR YOURSELF? CAN I HELP?”

Grillby straightened from the sink. “ _The same as you. I can eat real food.”_

Papyrus’s perpetual smile twisted into a knowing leer. “OH, SO YOU CAN TRY MY OWN LOVELY CREATIONS?”

“ _I said **real** food.” _

Papyrus scoffed, crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air. “MY CULINARY ART IS MERELY BEYOND YOUR COMPREHENSION.”

“ _Snob.”_

“PLEB.”

Grillby shouldered past him to get bowls for their dinner. They exchanged friendly insults until the soup finished and filled the room with the smell of home cooking. Papyrus smiled and waited for him to ladle the soup into his bowl, then trotted back to the table and rearranged his silverware.

Grillby put his own bowl down and glared at his guest putting spoons on the proper side. He popped disapprovingly, loud enough for him to hear. Papyrus glanced up and smiled with sugar and venom.

“IF YOU DID IT RIGHT, I WOULDN’T HAVE TO FIX IT.”

“ _Sit your skinny ass down and eat.”_

Grillby popped the cork out of the wine and poured a decent helping into Papyrus’s glass. Papyrus watched the liquid fall with a confused, distrustful expression and, as soon as Grillby finished, pushed the glass to the other side of the table. Grillby watched it scoot along, then filled the remaining glass and set it next to Papyrus.  

Without breaking eye contact, still stuck in a baffled scowl, Papyrus took a sip of the wine.

Grillby copied the sip and waited for him to speak.

“…NOBODY EVER OFFERS.”

“ _Mm?”_

“PEOPLE USUALLY THINK I’M YOUNGER THAN I AM.”

Grillby laughed and relaxed, taking a bigger drink and cutting a ravioli in half with his spoon. “ _Ah. I understand. People think I’m a geriatric.”_

Papyrus cocked his head. “AREN’T YOU LIKE 40?”

“ _42, good guess. The lizard kid is **convinced** I’m a war vet.” _

Papyrus snorted his wine. “WHAT?!”

Grillby flicked his wrist, waving his hand through the flames of his hair. “ _I know. Do I look Gerson’s age to you?”_

“WELL…”

Grillby glared and flickered a dangerous red. Papyrus put his free hand up in mock submission. “YOUR CROTCHETY, GRANDFATHERLY MANNER BELIES YOUR TRUE AGE, MISTER GRILLBY! JUST AS MY YOUTHFUL FEATURES AND BOUNDLESS ENTHUSIAM MASK MINE.”

“ _Boundless enthusiasm, huh?”_

“MMHM,” he mumbled around a mouthful of pasta.

“ _What about the inflated ego?”_

“A CLEVER DECEPTION! I AM INWARDLY A MESS OF CRITICISM AND DOUBT.”

Grillby choked on his wine, which ignited in a flaming belch. Papyrus put his hand to his mouth.

“DID I SAY THAT OUT LOUD?”

Grillby wheezed into the tablecloth. Papyrus half stood, hand raised to help his rival friend. He stiffened when he heard a strangled giggle from Grillby.

“ARE YOU… ARE YOU LAUGHING?!”

Grillby brushed a tear from his eye and wiped his mouth. “ _Why do I always end up in pain when you visit?”_

He didn’t wait for a response, instead scrambling to pat out a minor fire that started in his choking episode.

“ _Christ, help me put this out! I’m not ready to be a dad!”_

Papyrus blinked and slapped a napkin down to smother the flame. It went out with a small _,_ sad _whoof._ Papyrus helped Grillby sweep the ashes in the napkin and set them aside, then looked up at him.

“WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT BEING A DAD?”

“ _I can make kids with fire, like spreading a flame from one candle to another. There’s more to it but I have to be careful. I don’t feel like spawning today.”_

He returned to his ravioli now that they extinguished the looming threat of fatherhood. He had his hands full with his niece, much less a child of his own.

His spoon clinked against the bowl as he ate. He let himself enjoy the rare treat of wine and proper food, oblivious to his guest’s stare. A few moments of silence passed.

Papyrus stared with jaw agape at the napkin he used to put out the fire, looking a bit green.

“DID I JUST GIVE YOU AN ABORTION ON YOUR DINING ROOM TABLE?!”

Grillby choked yet again. He felt a twinge of guilt for laughing at Papyrus’s distress, but what else could he do?  

“ _No, dear Lord no. It was not alive.”_

Papyrus’s face was stuck in the expression of a kicked puppy. He cradled the napkin to his chest and ran his thumb over its edge.

“ _I promise. You can’t snuff living fire that easily.”_

“ARE YOU CERTAIN?”

_“Papyrus, calm down, I wouldn’t put it out if there was even a question. Give me the napkin.”_

He did, slowly, still pouting.

Grillby shook it out on the table.

“ _Do you see any dust?”_

Papyrus stood to see better. He prodded the scattered ash with a fork, then chuckled.

“Ah. OKAY THEN.”

Papyrus laughed.

“SO YOU CAN CREATE A CHILD? JUST LIKE THAT?”

“ _If I put magic in it.”_

“…CAN YOU SHOW ME AGAIN?”

Grillby’s hair snapped and popped. “ _I am not creating life for your amusement.”_

“FAIR.”

They ate in silence for a moment.

“ _How do skeletons have children?”_ Most monsters reproduced similarly, but each race had their quirks.

Papyrus gestured to his own chest. “OH WE JUST RIP OUT A RIB FROM EACH PARENT FOR BASE MATERIAL AND SMOOSH THEM TOGETHER WITH SOME SOUL MAGIC. I THINK. THAT’S WHAT I READ.”

He took a long draught from his wine, oblivious to Grillby’s stare. “NYEH HEH, SANS WOULD NEVER BE A DAD. HE CAN’T HANDLE PAIN AT ALL.”

He sniggered to himself. “ONE TIME I BROKE MY TIBIA, COMPLETELY SNAPPED IN HALF! THERE WAS DUST EVERYWHERE AND YELLOW MARROW LEAKING ON THE FLOOR. SANS PASSED OUT AND IT WASN’T EVEN HIS LEG.”

Grillby thought back to all the times Sans had downed the greasiest, most obscure food he could find, even offering to take other patrons’ leftovers home once. “ _He has a weak stomach?”_

“OH NO, HE NEVER THROWS UP. JUST… PASSES OUT EASILY?”

He shrugged. “THAT WAS WHEN WE WERE YOUNGER, THOUGH. MAYBE HE GREW A SPINE.”

“ _What happened when you broke your leg?”_

 _“_ MY MOM YELLED AT ME FOR BEING STUPID AND RECKLESS AND MY DAD YELLED AT SANS FOR NOT PAYING ATTENTION.”

“ _Pfft.”_

“WE HAD TO REPLACE THE CARPET.”

Grillby rubbed his temple, smiling into the palm of his hand. “ _Why? Did it really get everywhere?”_

“WELL, I FREAKED OUT WHEN SANS FAINTED AND CRAWLED OVER TO MAKE SURE HE WAS OKAY.”

“ _Bleeding.”_

 _“_ YEP. APPARENTLY, IT WON’T COME OUT OF CARPET WITH A SCRUB BRUSH. I TRIED.”

 

They made idle conversation for another half hour. Grillby polished off the rest of his dinner around the same time Papyrus did and they took their dishes to the kitchen, chattering the entire way.

Well, Papyrus talked a mile a minute and Grillby was there.

On the rare occasions Grillby spoke, Papyrus lit up. He stood even straighter (he had incredible posture. Grillby was a bit jealous) and his eyes sparkled whenever Grillby opened up, even a little bit.

 

-

 

“ _It’s hard to find decent hardwood chips out here.”_

 _“_ OH? WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE KIND? I MIGHT KNOW SOMEONE.”

_“Peat is gross emergency food. I got lost in Waterfall once and…”_

_..._

_“_ HAVE YOU TRIED THE WATER SAUSAGES?”

 

“… _And Cole fell asleep doing homework, so I moved all the furniture three inches to the left.”_

 _“_ NYEH HEH HAHA HA! A GASLIGHTING CLASSIC!”

 

“SANS BUILT A SHRINE TO A STRAY DOG UNDER MY SINK.”

“ _What.”_

 

-

 

They talked throughout the night, far past what politeness demanded. Grillby caught sight of the clock on a refill run and groaned.

“ _Papyrus, it’s ten.”_

 _“_ ALREADY?! OH DEAR I NEED TO GET HOME!”

“ _I need to get ready for tomorrow.”_

Papyrus swept up their glasses and put the chairs back in order, a blur of motion. “ALRIGHT WELL THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH MISTER GRILLBY. I HAD A PHENOMENAL TIME.”

“ _Any time, Papyrus.”_

“YOU SHOULD COME TO MY PLACE WHEN SANS IS OUT! I’LL COOK!”

 _“Sure,”_ he said with as much emotion as you’d imagine.

Papyrus tutted. “I ATE YOUR PASTA, NOW YOU EAT MINE.”

He sauntered out the door and gave him a wave. “WE’LL PICK THIS UP TOMORROW, SHALL WE? THIS HANGOUT DOES NOT MEAN A CEASEFIRE.”

“ _Of course,”_ Grillby followed him to the door.

“ONE OF US IS GOING DOWN.”

“ _Yes, you are. Good night Papyrus.”_

Papyrus turned to give a rebuke but Grillby slammed the door before he could speak. He snickered to himself as Papyrus ranted outside.

 

-

 

Papyrus stared, immobilized by indignation and… admiration? Only a truly worthy adversary could make him splutter so.

He grinned and made his way home, content to have such a lovely, adult friend rival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suzy.


	6. DON'T BE ALARMED I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I throw chronological order to the wind and Papyrus is an absolute monster!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have gained the ability to write what I want, when I want. SO MANY SHORTS TO COME MUAHAHAH  
> Anyway.  
> This comes chronologically after several unwritten chapters but I had a fit of inspiration for this scene at midnight, as one does. I'll move it around in the chapter order when I publish the rest.  
> EDIT: Whoopsie, this chapter is comparatively graphic. See the end notes for chapter-specific warnings.

Papyrus sat against the wall grinning, half manic, a knife clenched in his teeth and sleeve pulled over his shoulder.

“I HAD A GREAT IDEA.”

“ _No.”_

“I’M GONNA GIVE MYSELF A TATTOO.”

“ _NO.”_

“IT’LL BE RAD.”

“ _I can’t watch.”_

“FINE. AT LEAST TAKE PICTURES FOR ME. AND GET ME MORE ALCOHOL! THIS IS GONNA **HURT.”**

Grillby returned with a bottle of vodka and a rag to find Papyrus sketching the design on his humerus.

“ _Is that permanent marker?”_

“DOES IT MATTER?” Papyrus laughed. “OH, THANK YOU!”

Papyrus snatched the bottle out of Grillby’s hand and set it on the floor by his knee, then reached for the rag. Grillby squatted and checked out the ‘tattoo’.

“ _…What is it?”_

“IT’S MYSELF, WITH SUNGLASSES AND MUSCLES! AND SUNGLASSES ON MY MUSCLES!”

Grillby blinked. If he weren’t tipsy himself, there was no way he’d let Papyrus even attempt this. Still, he nodded along. Just like the rest of the patrons with “great ideas” at the bar, Papyrus would get cold feet.

Papyrus took a picture of the drawing with his phone and, satisfied with the results, took the knife loosely in his right hand. Grillby plastered on a poker face, trying to look as calm as his guest did. Papyrus flashed him a nervous smile, twirled the knife, then angled it to carve.

 

He didn’t even flinch.

 

Grillby watched in mute horror and awe as Papyrus carved his own arm. Dust flaked away with each scrape and settled on the cloth he had laid out. Papyrus followed the lines without error, silent save for the squeak of metal on bone. The excitement bled from his face but he continued, a determined grin in its place.

 

Ten minutes later, Papyrus took the vodka with the tattooed arm and took a swig from it. He dabbed a little bit on the rag and used it to wipe the shavings away, blinking hard when the alcohol touched the wound.

“ _You should stop.”_

Papyrus looked up and winked. “THE GREAT PAPYRUS CAN’T RUN AROUND WITH HALF A TATTOO! BESIDES, I’M PRETTY TOUGH.”

Grillby sat back and flopped onto the floor, his tie around his shoulders as Papyrus got back to work. “ _Are you doing it right?”_

“MMMHM.”

Papyrus propped his arm on his knee and rotated it under the knife. The soft squeak filled the room and turned Grillby’s stomach, but Papyrus kept going. He worked with graceful, slow strokes, shaving away millimeters of bone at a time.

“ _Why does it cut so easily?”_

Papyrus kept his eyes on his work and responded in monotone, “We can control the hardness of our bones.”

Once Papyrus shaved the marker layer away, Grillby lost track of the tattoo’s progress. He settled in to watch the morbid scene, concerned, but willing to trust Papyrus’s judgement.

 

After an agonizing hour and a third of the bottle, Papyrus blew away the last of the debris. “ALL DONE!”

Grillby snapped up from his doze. Papyrus slapped both hands on his knees and pushed himself up, rolled his shoulders and sighed. His joints popped as he made his way to the door.

“I SHALL RETURN SHORTLY.”

Grillby watched him go. Indistinct screaming rang through the house as soon as Papyrus left the room.

He stepped back in with tear tracks on his face and a stiff grin, the asymmetry of his eyes even more pronounced than usual in his wince.

“WOWIE THAT HURT.”

“ _No shit?"_

Papyrus giggled and wiped away the tears. “I DID IT.”

“ _Yup.”_

“I TOLD SANS I’D GET A TATTOO ONE DAY AND I REALLY DID.”

Papyrus caressed the fresh wound on his arm, tracing the intricate lines with a thumb. He chuckled to himself, then laughed harder. Emotion slipped into his voice as he rubbed at his eyes.

“ _You okay?”_

“NYEH HEH HAHAHAHA, YES, YES, I THINK I HAD TOO MUCH TO DRINK.” Papyrus fanned himself with his good hand, genuine grin stretching temple to temple. He hugged himself and swayed side to side.

“GRILLBY, I DID IT!”

Grillby raised his glass, grateful that his weird little friend finished his project. “ _Good job! How’d it turn out?”_

“OH EXCELLENT! DO YOU HAVE ANY CHARCOAL? PLEASE GO GET SOME! QUICKLY!”

Grillby stood to do as requested and returned with a fistful. Papyrus snatched them up and ground them into fine powder with a bone bullet, careful to keep it off the floor.

Grillby’s skin crawled as Papyrus smeared the powder into the tattoo, staining it black. Papyrus cackled with an indescribable mix of laughter and pain.

“AIEEE OH MY GOD OW.”

“ _Were you supposed to do that?”_

Grillby could hear Papyrus’s teeth grind as the charcoal stung. He took a moment to regain his composure, then cleared his throat.

“I BELIEVE SO. MY MOTHER TOOK ME WITH HER WHEN SHE WENT TO GET A TATTOO. I REMEMBERED MOST OF IT!”

His smile faltered.

“GRANTED I WAS FOUR, SO SOME THINGS ARE A LITTLE HAZY. BUT! I REMEMBER THE CHARCOAL!”

He wiped off the excess and started to clean up the mess. Grillby stood off to the side and held the knife and bottle.

“I’M BRILLIANT. WHEN I WANT TO SHOW OFF MY COOL ‘TAT, I CAN RUB SOME CHARCOAL IN! WHEN I WANT TO HIDE IT, I WASH THE CHARCOAL OFF! NOBODY WILL NOTICE!”

Grillby patted his back as they took the dusty rags to the laundry room.

 

One they finished, Papyrus turned his new tattoo in the light. Grillby whistled at the artistic talent that went into the ridiculous image.

“WILL YOU TAKE A PICTURE? PLEASE?”

“ _Sure thing, buddy.”_

Papyrus bounced to a good spot, lights in his eyes. Grillby fished his phone out of his pocket and opened the camera.

He tilted his head at Papyrus, standing ramrod straight with a goofy smile.

“ _...Get the knife.”_

“WHAT?”

“ _Get the knife and hold it in your teeth like you were.”_

Papyrus blinked, realization dawned and he scrambled to comply.

“LIKE THIS?” he mumbled around the blade.

“ _Good. Now turn and show off your arm.”_

He turned.

“ _Flex.”_

Papyrus beamed and posed according to Grillby’s instructions. Quite a few came out flattering – or maybe he was just drunk. Either way, they had fun.

 

They may or may not have taken a few selfies. And they may or may not have ended up framed. It was a good night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains self-mutilation but I swear it's not as dark as it sounds. I mean I don't think it is.


End file.
